


For John, With Love

by AnneCumberbatch



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dark Sherlock, M/M, Other, Pining Sherlock, Poor John, Protective Greg, Romantic Sherlock, Serial Killer Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-07-14 21:53:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7192268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneCumberbatch/pseuds/AnneCumberbatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bodies have been showing up all over London and they all have intricate pictures carved into their backs. The bodies appear to be the work of a serial killer and each picture contains a clue as to where the next body will be found. Greg Lestrade is the lead detective on the case and he calls in John Watson as a medical consultant. Soon afterwards, the designs on the bodies begin to change, all of them containing a frightening inscription.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock moved his wrist and arm in a curve with the grace of a master painter. His head tilted to the side and a slight smile curved his lips. He felt the resistance in the material as he finished creating a small swirl in the corner of his work. He moved back to the center and began to trace the stems of a heracleum mantegazzianum into his picture. There was a slight crease between his eyes as he focused on getting the leaves just right. His artistic abilities were incredible, he was related to Claude-Joseph Vernet after all. His hand shot up from his work, sprinkling droplets of blood everywhere, as his material shifted, . 

The muscles in the back of the man lying prone on the concrete shifted as he wriggled against the bonds holding his limbs stretched out from his body. He was slowly regaining consciousness. The sound of his body shifting against the concrete made squishing sounds as he moved in the puddle of his blood that was forming on the ground. Sherlock made a gentle hushing sound and ran a hand gently through the man's hair. "Shhhh, don't worry. I'm almost done. I almost wish you could see it, it is a truly beautiful masterpiece. I must admit, it is much easier designing when you're unconscious." Sherlock leaned his head in so his lips nearly touched the man's ear. "But it's so much fun hearing you scream." 

The man's eyes widened as he became more alert to his surroundings and the searing pain in his back and he screamed through the gag and struggled to get away, pulling his arms and legs from their bonds. Sherlock laughed and rocked back onto his heels, squelching blood beneath his feet. "Look at you! As if I would tie you so you could possibly get out of those. Now, hold still. I need to finish. 

Sherlock pressed his knee against the man's upper back and shivered with pleasure at the man's shriek of pain. He removed his knee and relocated it to the man's lower back where he had completed his design for that area. 

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

"Hey, sweetheart." Lestrade looked up from where he was standing on the rocks next to the Themes at the approaching figure.

John smiled slightly and nodded in a salutation and came to stand next to him. "Another one?"

"The same as the rest. He floated ashore last night. A tour boat saw him from the water and called it in." Lestrade knelt beside the body and started to pull it over to lie on it's back. His hands incased in blue gloves slipped slightly against the cold flabby skin. 

John knelt next to him and pulled on his blue gloves, waiting for the body to be turned so they could look at the picture. "Let's see what...." His voice trailed off. 

The two men stopped and stared at the carving in the dead man's back. Amongst a tangle of giant hogweed were drawn the words:

 

"For John, With Love". 


	2. Chapter 2

Scotland Yard was a bustle of activity. Whiteboards were everywhere, covered with photos of the victims, evidence, relatives, locations, maps, and papers disclosing other factors of the case, all trying to find a connecting strand or a theme. The smell of stale coffee and exhaustion permeated the air. The ringing of phones and the constant chatter of voices and patter of feet drove through skulls and found John in Greg’s office, nursing a lukewarm Styrofoam cup of weak tea, seeking solace from the bustle.  He stood there, resting his hip against Greg’s desk, his gaze settled upon a distant object, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. A hand upon his shoulder caused him to startle out of his deep thought. Greg pulled his hand back sharply. “Whoa... You alright?”

John nodded and sipped his tea. He made a face as the bitter liquid touched his tongue. “Any progress?”

Greg gestured towards the cup and turned towards the door. “I’ll get you a fresh cuppa.”

“Greg, have you made any progress? Do we know where the next body will be?” John looked Greg in the eye, his grip on the Styrofoam cup tightening slightly.

Reaching out, Greg rested his hand on John’s waist, giving him a squeeze of comfort. “Look, maybe you should go home. It’s getting late and you look tired.”

John pulled away and shook his head. “What? No, I’m staying. You haven’t made any progress, have you.”

“I can have a sergeant take you home. I think-“

“No, Greg.” John squared his shoulders and looked his partner in the eyes. “I want to stay. Don’t worry about me. We need to focus on catching who’s doing this.”

“I really think you should go, sweetheart. I don’t want you involved in this anymore.“ Greg’s voice grew strained, but his grip on John’s waist tightened with resolve.

“You can’t cut me off from this case! I am just as invested in it as you are. This is just as much my job as it is yours. I’m not fragile or scared, this won’t keep me from doing my job. I was a solder, for Christ’s sake, Greg, I can handle this!”

Greg looked at him a moment before sighing. “Fine. We’ve narrowed the location down to three places, all located somewhere along the Thames. The plant on his back are giant hogweed. We’re looking at warehouses and loading docks in Tilbury.”  

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

Sherlock lay on his back, looking up at the cracked plaster ceiling of his flat. He shifted, feeling the fabric of his blue dressing gown wrinkle between the muscles of his back and the fabric of the sofa cushion. With an exhale, smoke billowed into the air, swirling and dancing as the wind from the open window spread the grey cloud thin. Closing his eyes, Sherlock basked in the pure notes of Sarasate that swirled from the small speaker he had placed on the mantel. He opened his eyes in his mind palace and gazed at the photo he had recently placed on the wall. His gaze ran over the short-cut dirty blond hair swept across the forehead, the dark blue eyes with a slightly wrinkled brow leading to an endearing look of concentration, and a firmly squared jaw with a solid mouth. In his mind palace, Sherlock reached out and touched his fingertips gently to the image of John Watson, running the pads of his fingers against John’s jaw. A quiet exhale escaped Sherlock and his chest lowered with the deep release of breath.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock used the tip of the knife to create different intensities of red upon his work. The soft scratching of blade against bare skin was relaxing. He sighed and shifted so he was leaning on his left arm as he casually reclined next to the squirming naked body. The muffled crying was somewhat distracting, but occasionally the bound, naked man gave a pathetic whimper that sent delicious chills down Sherlock’s spine. He finished carving the pattern of four triangles with slight shading. Once he finished, he added a few swirls around the picture for artistic affect before slicing his inscription into the shaking pale flesh freckled with droplets of blood. As he finished the words, he languidly stood and smiled, satisfied with his work.

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

John closed the front door of the flat behind him, toe-ing off his shoes next to the small table near the door. He slipped off his damp jacket and hung it in the closet, separating it somewhat from the other coats so it could dry. His socked feet made a quiet padding noise as he walked into the kitchen and turned on the kettle. Water droplets fell from the tips of his hair. He shivered and walked towards the bathroom to turn on a hot shower. Greg came out of the bedroom and stood in his way. “Where have you been?”

John moved past him, his wet sleeve brushing past Greg’s light grey t-shirt as he went into the bedroom towards the bathroom. “I went for a walk. You were still at work and I wanted some fresh air. I forgot my umbrella.”

Greg followed John into the bathroom, the cold white tiles smooth under his bare feet. His voice echoed in the small room. “You can’t go on walks, John. We talked about this.”

John reached into the shower and turned on the hot water. “It was just a walk around the block. I’m fine.”

Greg grabbed at John’s arm, holding it tightly and pulling John to face him. “You can’t go on walks anymore. You can’t go anywhere by yourself, John. Don’t you remember?”

John jerked his arm away, angling his body away from Greg’s. “I’m not a victim, I’m perfectly capable of handling myself!”

Greg made a sharp noise of frustration and ran a hand quickly through his hair. “John, you’re being targeted by a serial killer!”

John’s eyes steeled. “I can take care of myself!”

“No, you can’t!” Greg snapped at him.

They stood glaring at each other for a moment, Greg tense with frustration and John clenched with anger. Greg’s eyes flickered to John’s lips, tense and pressed together. His hands grabbed John’s face and their mouths met in a frantic kiss, teeth scraping against skin and gasping breath hot upon cold skin. John’s hands clenched in the sides of Greg’s shirt, pulling them closer. Their clothes were quickly abandoned and they disappeared into the shower.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock stood outside in the dark, a hood partially covering the upper part of his face. His blue grey eyes pierced through the darkness, shining like a feral cat observing an oblivious prey. The tip of his tongue slipped through his light pink lips, smearing them with a thin coat of saliva. His gaze carried to the upstairs lit window of a flat. Lestrade’s shadow passed in the outline of light. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and the tips of his teeth bared as his body repulsed at the other man he knew was in John’s flat. The tips of his fingertips caught the edge of his coat and he drew it about himself and turned away.

 

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

John reclined on the sofa, wrapped in a soft plush blanket, and sipping a steaming cup of tea which was just a touch grey with milk and still swirling in the mug from Greg pouring it. As he brought the mug to his lips, he snuggled himself down into the comfort of his surroundings. The warm lights inside the flat provided a drastic contrast to the cold outside both of the men had avoided interacting with any longer than necessary. Greg walked over from the kitchen in front of the window and settled on the sofa next to him. John tucked his socked feet under Greg’s leg and closed his eyes in contentment. Greg turned the telly on to rugby and placed his hand over one of John’s feet, gently rubbing it with his thumb. At the touch, John finished melting into satisfaction at the domestic pleasantness they had achieved.  Apologies had been said and forgiven and for the moment, the outside world was forgotten.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

John was at the Tesco down the street from his flat. Greg was at work and John was getting food for the rest of the week, it was his turn to do the shopping. He turned his shopping cart around the corners of the brightly lit aisles and looked for the next item on his list, scanning the shelves. He paced down the length of an aisle before returning to his cart and glancing at the paper list on which he had written down the items he needed to collect. With the reminder of the item he was searching for he turned to go back down the aisle and collided with a wall of rough black fabric. He started and sputtered as he accidentally got a mouthful of a dark blue cotton scarf and he stepped backwards against his cart, blinking as he regained his composure. “I’m so sorry, excuse me.”

Sherlock looked down at him and took a step backwards, feigning surprise. He brushed down his coat with hands purposefully fluttering in contrived embarrassment. “Oh, please forgive me, I didn’t see you. Lost in my thoughts. I do hope you’re alright?” With that, Sherlock extended a gloved hand towards John’s shoulder, as if to steady him.

John looked up at the stranger and smiled, the expression lighting up his face, “Yes, of course, no worries.”

Sherlock nodded, John’s expression creating a warm feeling deep in the pit of his stomach, and brushed by him, continuing on further into the Tesco, his hand falling back to his side, tingling from the close contact. He didn’t look around, but could feel the moment John’s gaze turned to watch him leave.

John watched the stranger leave and after a moment turned his attention back to the grocery list and his shopping.

 

 

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

 

When Greg returned home from the yard that night, he was met with a peaceful flat, filled with the smells of a homemade dinner and the soft sound of classic jazz music. He slid off his shoes and hung his coat up in the closet. “John, I’m home!”

John looked around the corner from the kitchen and smiled. “Great timing, dinner’s almost ready. Any advancement on the case?”

Greg came into the kitchen and went to the fridge. Getting a beer, he sat at the table, popping the lid open against the edge before raising it to his mouth to drink. “Nothing very useful, I’m afraid. We’ve been searching the warehouses near Tilbury and nothing. It’s ridiculous. We’re looking for something we don’t even know for sure is there.”

John left the stove for a moment and came to stand behind Greg, his hands falling upon tired and tense shoulders. With slow movements, his hands began working on the numerous knots developing on the muscles located in Greg’s shoulders. John lowered a soft kiss onto the top of Greg’s head. “You’ll find it. If it’s the same killer who carved up those other bodies before, you’ll find it. He’s killed six times before, he won’t stop now. It won’t be in his nature. Especially since his murders have gotten specific.”

 Greg shook his head. “I would rather he did stop, John. What with your name being on the last one...”

John shook his head. “Of course, as do I, but you know what I mean.”

 With a sigh, Greg nodded, placing his fingers over one of John’s hands. He squeezed. “I know.”


	6. Chapter 6

The sharp blade pressed against the white pasty skin creating an indent before the skin broke, allowing the scalpel to slip through, moving easily through the layer of fat until it hit some small resistance against muscle mass. Blood welled from the sliced vessels, pumping tiny red streams up and over, pulled out to the ground, slithering and pooling on the plastic sheet taped down to the table. With an ease only experience can acquire, the hand pulled the blade, severing muscles and blood vessels, taking care with every cut in dedication.

“His eyes were so bright.. So… kind. So unexpected.” Sherlock leaned back away from the table for a moment. “I’m sure you’ve seen them in the paper.” He bent over and sliced another flourish into his tapestry, one hand pressing hard against the body’s upper shoulders to hold him in place. The body gave a muffled whimper and Sherlock’s eyes fluttered closed in response. “Mm... Where was I… His eyes. They are so utterly blue. And he walks with such military precision. I admire that about him. His precision. Nothing is unnecessary. Every step is intentional.”

Sherlock carved another flourish into the skin, dabbing away the blood so he could see his work. “He will love you, I think. One of my best pieces yet.”

 

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

 

 

John slammed the bedroom door in Greg’s face. Greg huffed in anger. “John!! Will you listen to me!”

“NO!” John bellowed from inside the bedroom. He sat on the bed and crossed his arms. “Not while you are being so unreasonable!!”

“You are the one behaving like a child!! Now let me in!” Greg banged his fist once against the door.

John tightened his arms and glared at the closed door. “I am not behaving like a child. You cannot keep me prisoner in this house! I have every right to go to work just like you are!”

Greg ran a hand over his face. “John Watson, we have been over this. There is a serial killer leaving bodies-“

“-With my name on them, yes I am aware, thank you, _Gregory._ I was so unaware of this event.” John spat out the words. “However, I believe that, as your best forensic officer, that I am your best chance of catching him.”

“John…” Greg sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against the door. “You know I can’t let you come to work..”

John swung open the door, setting Greg off balance. “You know very well that you can let me come back to work. I will be surrounded by policemen. There could be no safer place for me to be. I will not become your housewife, Greg. This job is as much my life as you are. This job means everything to me and I will not let you take that away from me.”

Greg looked down at him in silence, his eyes heavy with fear.

“I know you’re scared.” John raised his hand and brushed his fingers against Greg’s jaw. “I know. But I’ll be with you every second. No safer place, yes?”

Greg leaned into the touch, tilting his head so his mouth brushed John’s fingers in a kiss. “Yes..”

“Good.” John rocked up on his toes and pressed a kiss against Greg’s mouth. Greg wrapped his arms tightly around him, pulling him close. John nestled his face against Greg’s shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”


End file.
